Crawford was at his side still. He gave a discreet cough. “I see youhave no valet, Sir Henry. I am afraid we no longer have Sir Geoffrey’s man, as Mr. Farnon left shortly after Sir Geoffrey died. He’d received an offer of employment elsewhere, you understand.” A distinct touch of disapproval there. “With Sir Julian Horncastle.”
Did Crawford not like the valet’s new employer? The slight disdain in his voice and the even slighter curl of his lip betrayed this possibility. Interesting. Was Sir Julian a neighbor, perhaps? Time to ask those questions later.
“That’s all right,” Harry said, glad he wasn’t to be submitted to the ministrations of a manservant, especially one he didn’t know. “I’ve managed for myself all these years so I should think I can do it just as well here.”
A small disapproving frown appeared on Crawford’s brow. “Thomas, your footman, could stand in as your valet temporarily.” Clearly a gentleman not having a valet was something that went against the grain with his butler. “Along with his footman’s duties, of course.”
Thomas, looking hopeful, nodded with enthusiasm. “I’ve done it before, Sir Henry. For Sir Geoffrey when Mr. Farnon was indisposed with the chickenpox.”
Harry shook his head. “Thank you, but I wouldn’t wish to lure you away from what must already be hard work, as you seem to be the only footman. I shall manage for myself with no trouble.”
Thomas, crestfallen, let his broad shoulders sag.
Ignoring this, Harry glanced around the hallway, aware that something was missing from this welcoming party. “I was told by Mr. Pratt that Sir Geoffrey had a wife and daughters?” Probably the daughters were all grown up and married off, as Sir Geoffrey had been sixty years old. “Is Lady Madeley indisposed?”
All the servants must be listening, while maintaining the pretence of not, their faces uniformly blank. Had they been horses, or dogs, their ears would have been twitching.
Crawford looked a touch uncomfortable. “Her ladyship considered you would prefer to arrive to a house empty of any remembrance of your predecessor’s family, Sir Henry. She didn’t want to cause you any discomfort, so she vacated the house for your arrival. She has moved to the empty property on the estate that Sir Geoffrey left to her in his will.”
“Oh.” Well, that took care of one worry. He hadn’t been looking forward to having to deal with a woman in her fifties who’d not long ago been widowed. A woman who would have been a total stranger to him but with whom he would have had to dine this evening and converse. Best all round that she’d considerately moved out, but he would nevertheless have to call on her shortly, out of politeness. Her having been married to his cousin meant she’d become a cousin as well.
Not today though.
He nodded to Crawford. “No matter. You see before you a tired man. This evening all I need from my servants is food and then my bed.” How vexing that a mere two-day journey had rendered him so exhausted. He had to unwillingly admit that he was not, as yet, fully recovered from his wounds, no matter how much he wanted to be.
Crawford nodded to the servants, who departed with alacrity, all except Thomas who went to fetch Harry’s bags in from the front steps.
“We keep what Sir Geoffrey called country hours for dinner here at Windrush,” Crawford said. “If this does not suit you, Sir Henry, I shall instruct Mrs. Barnes to adjust the time. But I’m afraid for today she will have prepared the meal for six o’clock. I’m sure she can delay it a little if you would like her to.”
Harry shook his head. “No. Six will suit me well. No need to change anything you’re used to doing. I’ve no intention of interfering with anything that doesn’t need changing.”
Thomas came back in with Harry’s belongings and set off up the curving oak staircase to the galleried landing that overlooked theentrance hall.
Crawford indicated the stairs. “This way, Sir Henry.”
Harry followed the two servants up the stairs, around the galleried landing and along the upper corridor to a room that must, at a guess, be in the east wing of the house. Crawford opened the door and Thomas carried Harry’s bags in and set them at the foot of the four-poster bed.
Harry had never slept in a four-poster bed before, but, feeling like a beggar who’d sneaked his way into a palace, he managed to hide his surprise.
“Will there be anything else, Sir Henry?” Crawford asked, as his eyes and Thomas’s strayed back to the bags, no doubt thinking one of them should do the unpacking for him.
Harry shook his head. “Nothing, thank you.” He looked at the fob watch that had been his father’s and grandfather’s before his. “I see I have a good half an hour until dinner. I’m quite capable of changing for it on my own, and I’m sure you have plenty to do.” Not that he could imagine what that was. Surely with so many servants each must have a light load to bear.
When they’d gone, he sat down on the edge of the bed, glad to get the weight off his bad leg. Who would have thought sitting in a post chaise for two days of travelling would prove to be so debilitating? He flopped back onto the bed and stared up at its ornate canopy. Was this the room his cousin had died in? Mr. Pratt had explained it had been from an apoplexy, which meant he could indeed have died in this very bed. He sat up and eyed it. Possibly not a comforting thought. But the soft mattress would help his back.
Lying here would not get things done. He got up and put his bags on the bed. Which one had his rarely used evening suit in it?
The low sunlight streamed in through the two windows that must, if he was correct, look out over the front of the house. Abandoning his unpacking, he went to inspect the view.
He was right. The windows gave onto the front drive, although from slightly to the right, so he must be in the west wing, not the east. The wide gravel drive disappeared out of the open, wrought-iron gates between two sturdy pillars. Beyond lay the lane he’d arrived on.
He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of nothing. Never had he lived with such quiet, not even at Hester’s house for there the constant calls of the gulls had denied him that. The extensive gardens, which from here appeared to be only lawns, stretched to a low wall and a row of trees—beech, elm, ash and no doubt some good English oak. Beyond lay fields, empty now of crops.
What was that, though?
Movement between the trees.
He narrowed his eyes. The shadows thrown by the trees made shapes difficult to make out, but wasn’t that somebody standing there? Someone watching the house. If he’d only had his father’s old naval telescope with him he’d have been able to see exactly who it was.
